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Get Me Out of This Car

17 Sep

While en route to Wisconsin for my cousin’s wedding I had a full 8 hours to remind myself on why I hate road trippin’.

Road-trips are my own personal hell. I never have enough leg room, the probability of puking is at an all time high, and my dad frequently makes sudden stops while swearing.

3 Reasons Why I Hate Road-Trips…

Rest-stops. It always seems like right when you fall into a semi-comfortable sleep, one where your neck isn’t cramping and you @ss hasn’t lost all feeling, someone HAS to go to the bathroom. This someone is generally a small child and he/she refuses to stop slurping down juice boxes, resulting in the need to pee 3-4 times an hour. Not only am I annoyed that I have to be shuffled around the mini-van as small feet attempt to climb over me, but my parents also insist that I “just try and use the restroom too”. Thanks, but not thanks. I’m 20 years old, and I think I can tell when I have to go okay? Besides, those rest-stop bathrooms are questionable.

Someone will have to pee any moment now...

Drugs. In order to successfully make it through a road-trip I need to either be a.) completely knocked out or b.) in such a daze that I don’t mind my brother is kicking my seat and asking “are we there yet?”. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I’m a puker. I can guarantee that with every family vacation I’ve redecorated the car and/or landscape. On top of a mountain in Colorado, in a public trashcan at Disney World, on a sailboat out on the ocean, in Costa Rica, and of course innumerable times in the family car. Each stain holds a memory. It will make your day and my day so much better if I can just shove down some Dramamine take a couple of Tylenol PM and seep into a pharmaceutical coma.

Oscar Wilde's house...took this one right after I threw up behind the tour bus..awesome.

Highway Exit Restaurants. Now I’m not hating on Cracker Barrel or Big Boy here, I’m talking about the run down pit stops right in between off the radar and BFE ; where bodies may or may not be buried. I just don’t feel like eating at “Uncle John’s Pancake House,” the paint is peeling and the sign looks like it hasn’t been lit since 88’. Not to mention I just counted 2 cars in the parking lot…and one has to be the cook right..!? Is that lipstick on my coffee cup?

Do You Like Road-Trips?

-Nicole

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